


xvi; Nitrous

by Theo_Thaur



Series: 31 Days of TUA Whump [16]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Confused Luther Hargreeves, Episode: s02e04 The Majestic 12, Gen, Luther Hargreeves Being an Asshole, Minor Allison Hargreeves/Luther Hargreeves, One Shot, Sort Of, Whump, Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:15:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27141640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theo_Thaur/pseuds/Theo_Thaur
Summary: Whumptober 2020 submission. No 16. "A TERRIBLE, HORRIBLE, NO GOOD, VERY BAD DAY": Forced to Beg, Hallucinations, Shoot the Hostage.-----Luther experiences the effects of a nitrous overdose.
Relationships: Elliott Gussman & Luther Hargreeves
Series: 31 Days of TUA Whump [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1951234
Kudos: 2
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	xvi; Nitrous

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGERS: drug use, misuse of substances, paranoia/hallucination, suicide reference, violence, brief/inexplicit sexual reference.

_xvi; Nitrous_

_"Bad day, huh?"_

_"Yep."_

_"You want some nitrous?"_

The last time Luther had tried to bury his pain deep, deep down with a new substance, it hadn't worked too out well. He'd choked Klaus up against a marble pillar, cried on Klaus' shoulder, and thrown Klaus across the floor --and that was all while he'd been in the house. Luther had then proceeded to go out to a rave, do drugs, be subsequently kicked out, and take a girl to the _academy_ of all places to sleep with her. So definitely a 0-1 there. Last time, it'd been finding out about years and years of isolation he'd subjected himself to for nothing; about friendlessness, and chasing after a very abusive and potentially dangerous father figure that treated him like a possession. This time was pretty much the same, except he was in the nineteen-sixties instead of space and it was Jack Ruby instead of Reginald Hargreeves. Luther's choices were starting to become a trend that he had decided not to look into. 

This time he also had a job to mourn, and the absolute car crash that was finding out about Allison's very polite, very smart husband. So he had new things to mourn about, but with someone to vent to. He really didn't know how long they'd been there with the nitrous, but it beat waiting for Five on the couch, while holding all of his possessions. They took turns inhaling deeply from the silver canister, cackling. Luther felt somewhat certain they kept looping around to the same depressing subjects, because it felt like the same information entering his head, but everything was light and foggy so it didn't matter much.

"No, no listen," Luther prefaced, between giggles. He was laughing so hard tears were coming out of his eyes. "I wanna tell you about her."

"I am listening!" Elliott replied, punching him lightly in the arm and laughing, as he handed over the mask. Luther took a long huff, closing his eyes. 

"What?" he asked, pausing only from the nitrous briefly.

"No, no you asked me," Elliott refuted.

"Really?" Luther said, and they both burst out laughing. "I can't believe I did that!"

"You did!" Elliott answered, which was apparently funny enough to warrant more laughter. "It was about your girl. Or you _thought_ she'd been your girl!" Luther frowned suddenly, taking the mask away from his face, which Eliott gladly snatched up.

"This might be the worst day of my life. I mean I'm trying to be happy for her, and live vicariously through her satisfaction with life, but everytime I think about it I realize I just can't compete with her husband Ray," he deadpanned, staring at Elliott. For a moment they just looked at each other, the mask over Elliott's mouth, before Luther burst out laughing at the absurdity. "He's just such a good guy! I'm sure they have a lot to bond over together and have very insightful talks!" Luther held his stomach, feeling like he might just burst apart at the seams if he kept laughing. He took the mask when he was offered it.

"I know how you feel!" Luther giggled. "Seriously! When my wife left me for my best friend, I lost my wife but also my best friend, because they just talked to each other," Elliott explained, through wheezing. The hiss of air stopped, and Luther frowned, shaking the tube to get it to work before giving that up and finding it funny. "It's just empty. Like I was when my wife left me!" Elliott stumbled out of the leather chair. They laughed all the way through Elliott changing out the empty cylinder for a new one, especially when Elliott held the fresh cylinder up above his head. "I mean, good thing my best friend left me too though, right? I mean what would we have talked about? How my wife left me?" The air began to flow from the mask, Elliott taking the inaugural turn.

"I'm almost glad the world is ending," Luther said. Elliott froze up before they just gave in, howling like hyenas so hard the room began to spin. "At least now I won't have to see her raise a family like I did in the future," he added breathlessly.

"So, wait, this happened before?" Luther nodded. "That's unreal!" Elliott answered, handing off the supply.

"I know! I don't know why this keeps happening to me," he roared, sucking up the nitrous. "Hey is it… is it cold in here, or is that just me?" Luther asked, after a beat.

"I don't feel a thing!" Elliott rasped, giggling. "You're blitzed!"

"I have _no_ idea what you mean, man," Luther replied, still humored by everything, but it was really getting cold. He continued breathing the nitrous, looking around. 

Huh. 

He didn't remember his spaceship having dental equipment or tiled floors. Luther secured the oxygen mask connected to the nitrous around his head, using the elastic to do so. He needed his Portable Life Support System. Luther rubbed at his eyes. The portion of his helmet he needed to see out of was turning all foggy and smudged. Did it have dust on it? That wouldn't do. And why was everything spinning? Surely the moon wasn't rotating that quick, although considering how fast his heart was beating, maybe it wasn't impossible? Luther sighed, starting to get frustrated that nothing was working but being distracted by the cold again, rubbing at his arms. The noise of laughter caught his attention and he looked at the man sitting in the chair next to him. "Hey, you're not supposed to be here. You need a helmet," Luther warned, which was entirely inaudible with his helmet on. The man shook his head, chuckling, but Luther was frustrated. Where was his helmet? And what was he doing on Luther's moon colony of one? "Did dad send you?"

"You're not making any sense," the man answered. That tracked, without a helmet whoever this was, their communication system was probably fried. Luther tried to be the voice of logic. It didn't work.

"You're here to kill me," he said suddenly, dead serious, looking the intruder in the eye. The helmet-less astronaut just kept laughing, and laughing… Luther stood suddenly, the tube that connected to his oxygen supply trailing down behind him as he took a step closer. Luther stood over the intruder, pinning his arms down on the armrests of the chair, his large hands easily acting like handcuffs around much smaller wrists.

"Would this be a bad time to come out and say, I keep a gun under my sink? Just by all the plumbing!" The stranger guffawed. "I wanted to put it under my pillow but I think my overwhelming desire to prove to myself that I have individual thought made me change plans," he babbled. "But at least now nobody's ever gonna find that gun, not unless I shot myself with it first!" Luther stepped away, the canister dragging behind him as he went into the kitchen, crouching down to check the cabinet under the sink. Sure enough, there was a hunting rifle. Already loaded. Luther took off the safety, nitrous still whirring as he went back to the invader, holding the gun. The man made a squealing noise, holding his hands up suddenly, surprised. "You don't really need that, do you? You know you could break me apart with your bare hands." Luther drew closer, the other was frozen in his chair, having already ran out of time to move. Luther jabbed the gun against his chest, poking him with it. 

"Turn the cold off, and we'll talk," he said. He didn't want to hurt the stranger if he didn't have to. What if this was a misunderstanding and he was a friend of dad's? 

"I-I don't know what you're saying…" there was fear in his teary, blueish eyes. The stranger was hiding something, he was sure of it. Luther moved the gun away, only to punch the man in the face. His cheek reddened, blood running from his nose, and he inched as far away he could in that chair. Nostrils flaring, Luther tried to put together another demand.

"Fix the hole in that wall!" he ordered, pointing off to his right. Why had the intruder punched a hole there to begin with? Why was he ruining the closest thing Luther had to home in space? What about his plants, his experiments, everything Luther had worked so hard to build up? He found himself beginning to weep. It wasn't fair, this kind of thing shouldn't happen. He didn't ask to have his moon base hijacked and ruined by some outsider that knew nothing about his life, about how much he sacrificed every day just to be there. What did the invader gain by tearing it apart? What did the stranger want? Luther was desperate to feel safe and do his job until he could go back to his real home, and now everything was going to shit. The cold air was being drawn in through a hole in the side of the wall and Luther could hear the noise of the broken seal, like the writhing of snakes as cold flooded in. It was exactly how he'd imagined it the first year in space, when he'd been so afraid of something going wrong and him dying alone. "Please, just fix it, I wanna go back to how it was. Please, I promise," he begged, growing more desperate by the minute. His face twisted up as he shoved the butt of the gun right back into the man's chest. 

"I can't fix it," the stranger said, shaking his head, looking serious. Luther practically melted. 

"You can't?" he whined, taking a few deep breaths to try and calm himself, before breaking out into a coughing fit. He refused to take his helmet off, though, because he needed that to live. Luther's lungs ached, and everything felt tight. Why was it tight? Turning the gun away, Luther wrestled with the collar of his plaid shirt, tearing it open. The man reached out while he was distracted, hand wrapping around the oxygen supply of his helmet. Luther's attention was immediately drawn back to the intruder, his eyes widened and he pulled the hand away immediately. He took their arm and cracked it backwards from the elbow joint with as much ease as pulling the meat of a barbecue rib away from the tough bone. The villain had tried to hurt him, to take his helmet off. That was a direct threat to his health. Luther knew what he had to do.

"Luther, you gotta listen to me," the invader begged, crying. Luther stood still, trying to figure out what to do. A part of him thought maybe he wasn't supposed to go through with it, like there'd been some kind of misunderstanding.

_In the years before the debut of the Umbrella Academy, Luther had struggled with fighting his siblings, even in training. He resented being pushed up against them, having to train with each of them to help them further their combat skills. It was scary to feel that kind of raw power under his skin, and it didn't feel right to hurt them, though Reginald expected him to do it. They'd all been resentful about the various training injuries they'd acquired, when Luther usually came out of it unscathed._

_"Not everything's a competition, but it is now. Wait 'til dad lets me bring a knife. Then you'll see, freak," Diego spat, following a broken arm._

_Luther remembered coming to Reginald that night, concerned he was doing more harm than good. "Are you sure I should keep going at them when we're partnered?"_

_"I am always sure. The real world is not gentle, and part of being Number One is that you must do things not because you want to, but because I ask it of you. I had thought you were better than this. You do want the others, the team effort, to grow strong, do you not?"_

_._

_._

_._

_He'd been told at Diego's boxing gym that he should consider boxing, and Luther did, fifty-six years earlier. That night he'd been wrapping himself, getting ready for a match. Luther kept light on his feet, trying to make sure he was sweating enough, rather than cooling down. It was his first fight under Jack Ruby's wing, after a few impressive matches without support. He'd been trained to fight all of his life, and with his powers in addition to that, the winnings he'd earned were no surprise. Luther was much stronger than anyone he'd seen, any fight should have seemed like a piece of cake, but he was so much more nervous now with someone depending on him to perform. Luther tried to focus on channeling that energy, hoping it would make him lighter on his feet and stronger in his muscles._

_"You good, kid?" Jack Ruby asked, standing in the doorway of the slum Luther was given to prepare at. "You look like you've seen a ghost. I have a lot riding on you, and I know you're fresh blood."_

_"Yeah. I think so, and I'm pretty new to this," Luther said, trying to act casual._

_"No, stop thinking," Jack's voice suddenly got harsh, "I'm askin' you to know you're good, and if you don't know, you might as well quit. When you go up against that guy in the ring and you think, you're as good as dead to me," he jabbed a finger in Luther's direction. "I don't pay you to think. Remember that." He hadn't known how to react, the man's mood turning on a dime. But Luther knew what he had to do._

He drew the gun up, hands shaking. His fingers were turning blue and yet his helmet was still on. Something was desperately wrong and he was scared. He looked over his shoulder, the shadow-y figures of two men watched him. Sweat ran down Luther's face as he turned to the invader, to the villain, to _Elliott_. He was desperate to survive, he needed to do this. Luther didn't need to worry about aim, just pulling the trigger would do it, or so he told himself. Elliott wept, but it was either Luther was dying or Elliott was, that was always the choice --beat the bad guy, or die; knock the opponent out, or lose. Luther didn't have a choice, this was just who he was. His chest felt tight, and the gun jittered in his hands as he took a deep breath and aimed up to shoot the invader.


End file.
